Just... me. :)

For an awfully long time... much of my life, I suspect, I tried to be whomever "you" wanted me to be.

The identity of "you" changed from lifeline to lifeline, and I thought I always remained true to myself. But looking back, I see that I did not. 

I molded myself, changed myself in subtle, and sometimes not so subtle ways. 

I shake my head a little, and smile ruefully to think of it now.

But now, I can no longer be who "you" want me to be... I can be only myself. 

And I am good with that. 

You are most welcome in my life, but now, I am only "as is." 

Perhaps that is the greatest gift of growing just a touch older. I know who I am. And I am more than ok with that. 

What a lovely time to be alive. 

xo

Fear...

This is a link to e-know.ca, Ian's online newspaper I occasionally commit journalism for.
More specifically, it is a link to my column. :)

http://www.e-know.ca/regions/cranbrook/step-inward-and-recognize-the-fear/

Straight from the horse's mouth

When I walked outside this morning, something looked... awry. 
I could see the horses. All three of them. But Hollywood, a handsome and lovable, if lazy, gelding, was once again on the wrong side of the fence. 
Tony piped up that I should just get a pail of grain and lead the horse down the fence line to the gate the way he does when this happens. 
No way, says I, am I going to reward that naughty horse for his bad behaviour by giving him grain. Besides, no matter which side of the fence I am on, I will either have Hollywood crowding me for the pail, or the other two, Molly and Joe, who are on the right side of the fence. 

So off I trudge, halter and lead in hand, squelching through the mud, climb through the barbed wire fence and get the halter on Hollywood. 

I will translate what I believe to be an honest recollection of the conversation that ensued. 

Me: How do you get through the fence? I can't see any spots where you could keep doing this. 

Hollywood: I am magic. 

Me: You are not magic. You are naughty, and if I find that spot I am going to fix it so you can't do this anymore. 

Hollywood: Am so magic. My great grand-dam was part unicorn.

Me: You are lying. Let's go. We have a walk ahead of us. 

Hollywood: Where's the grain? 

Me: You don't get grain. Grain is a reward. You are naughty. 

Hollywood: Tony brings grain when I do this. 

Me: Tony is also naughty. Let's go. 

About a hundred yards down, Hollywood stops. 

Me: Come on, let's go. 

Hollywood: Can't. The other horses are back the other way. Let's go back. 

Me: No, we have to go this way, there is no gate on that side.

Hollywood: I miss them. 

Me: Well then you shouldn't have done this. 

After a little encouragement, we walk another hundred yards or so. Hollywood once again stops. 

Me: What's wrong now? 

Hollywood: There is something in that bush. 

Me: It is just a bag. The wind must have caught it. I will pick it up while we go past. 

Hollywood: SCARY BAG. Not going. 

Me: Ok, I will tie you to this post and get the bag. 

I tie the horse, walk over the get the scary bag, shove it in my pocket and go back to get the horse. 

Hollywood: You are my hero. It could have killed us both. 

Me: It was just a bag. We are almost there, let's go.

Hollywood: WAIT WAIT WAIT. 

Me: Now what?

Hollywood: Gotta poop. 

Which he proceeds to do. 

Me: Are you ready now?

Hollywood, sighing heavily: I am so tired. Can't walk. I might be lame. Are you sure there is no grain? I am famished. Pity me.

Me: You are not tired. We barely walked a kilometre. And frankly, you are fat and you don't need any grain. A little exercise is good for you. 

We finally reach the gate, unlatch it, walk through and latch it up again.

I take his halter off. 

Hollywood: I am just going to do it again you know. 

And with that parting shot, the pitiful, famished, possibly lame and exhausted Hollywood snorts at me, turns and runs like the wind back to his buddies in perhaps a 10th of the time it took him to walk to the gate. 

Horses. 

Of raisins and March snowfall.

No one is ambivalent about raisins.

Have you ever noticed that? I posted on Facebook once about enjoying my delicious raisin toast and the most interesting barrage of negative raisin comments appeared with lightning speed.

Everything from how they were nothing but sad little wrinkled grapes to a diatribe about raisins being the root of trust issues as an adult (something about that cookie they thought was chocolate chip really being raisin oatmeal).

But snowfall, that is something I do have mixed emotions about.

In a place like this, where our climate is semi-arid, and in a profession like my current one, that being a ranch manager, a good heavy snowfall means water in spring. Water for crops, water for trees, fields that are not tinder dry by August and therefore an interface fire threat.

Lots of snow means a rich water table.

We are not that part of BC that is rich and lush, though I would seriously consider a move there if it were not for wanting to stay where my children are, at least for the foreseeable future.

But even with that desire for a healthy ecosystem, waking up this morning to an inch of fresh, wet snow, I was sorely tempted to climb straight back into bed.

The cheery side of me says "well more moisture is better, even if it is just a little!"

The grumpy cat side of me shoved that little Pollyanna wretch aside, swore like a sailor, and thought of all the mud this will create in cow and horse pens, and pondered going back to bed for at least, say, a month.

And of course, true to March form, it is now about 5 degrees above zero, and the snow is melting, sinking into the ground, creating mud mud mud... no way I will be getting into the greenhouse until tomorrow.

In like a lion. Out like a lamb. One can hope.
Beginning to understand that raisin/trust connection...